


And That's The Way It Is

by Eloarei



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Slow Burn, Existentialism vs Essentialism, Love Confessions, M/M, Religious Conflict, Talk of Soulmates, Talk of falling, just as much about Aziraphale's relationship with God as his relationship with Crowley, sometimes I forget I'm not a Christian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 16:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19468147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eloarei/pseuds/Eloarei
Summary: Don't give up on your faith. Love comes to those who believe.(Aziraphale wants love. But how to balance that with his faith, when the two seem necessarily at odds?)





	And That's The Way It Is

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a simple gal. I get a new (or, uh, recycled) fandom, I wanna write. I hear a Celine Dion song, I get _feelings_. 
> 
> So, um, this turned out _a LOT_ longer than I expected, which is frightening because it sort of doesn't have a plot. But, y'know, I guess _-hrk-_ that's the way it is. I really just wanted to get a feel for these guys, and I had a lot of fun, so... that's... what matters?

God’s new creatures really were magnificent, Aziraphale couldn’t help but think. Oh, everything God made was lovely, but there was really something about the humans. It was the love, he thought. He didn’t know how, but they loved in a way that was… well, a lot like how God loved. He supposed that made sense. They _were_ made in the Almighty’s image, after all. But when he watched the two of them together, the love they shared was so overwhelming, the only other time he’d sensed such a thing was _from the Lord._ When he was made, he remembered such the warmest feeling of unconditional love and acceptance. When the humans were together, they were… _covered_ in the stuff. They made love look so effortless. 

(And it wasn’t just the procreation, really! The other animals all procreated too, and none of them ever seemed so, excuse him, _darned_ pleased with themselves. The other animals were all beautiful creatures, but they didn’t have love the same way the humans did, during procreation or any other time.)  
  
He would say he was jealous, but he hardly knew the meaning of the word. He just… he felt so joyous watching them wander around the garden together, looking in each others’ eyes like nothing else existed, _radiating_ love. Magnificent creatures, really. He could watch them all his days-- which was a good thing, given that was his job, in a way. He could happily guard them and the east gate for all of eternity.  
  
And he might have done, had the whole _apple_ thing not gone down (not that he resented it; he really didn’t). Then, well, there wasn’t much reason to guard the garden anymore, what with everyone sort of spilling out into the rest of the world. The humans left, and he gave them his sword for protection because he was genuinely _saddened_ at the thought of their destruction, the idea that the love they carried would be wiped from the Earth for good and he would be left to the plants and animals that only shone with the leftover glow of God’s love for them, but never made their own. It was a truly strange experience, to be made so thoroughly afraid for them, for _it,_ their love. He had never felt that before.  
  
What strange, lovely creatures, to make him feel so much. The fear wasn’t exactly pleasant, but he was in awe of the emotion. God really had created quite the extensive pallet of colors to fill both Heaven and Earth. He told himself this as he trembled, watching the humans flee the garden and shielding the demon beside him from the sudden rainfall.  
  
“Worried?” the demon asked, glancing at him from under the shelter of his feathers.  
  
“What? No,” Aziraphale said. “No, of course not. I’m, I’m sure they’ll be just fine. They’re God’s best creations after all, very… hardy.”  
  
The demon hummed. “S’pose you’re right. God wouldn’t let any _real_ harm befall the new favorites.” He gave Aziraphale an appraising look that was at least half sarcasm, but the angel hardly noticed. (He didn’t really get sarcasm just yet anyway.)  
  
Despite the worry, he honestly believed that to be true. God was _just._ God _loved_ the humans, or else they wouldn’t be so full of the glorious emotion. The punishment for eating the apple had already been handed out, and now the humans would live wonderful fulfilling lives out in the world.  
  
And, indeed, they did. Aziraphale knew because, well, he watched them. Couldn’t help himself. Not only did he want to ensure their safety, but he was drawn to their love, much like he would later be drawn to their food. (But… more.) He was pleased to find that it wasn’t only Adam and Eve who were capable of loving like that; their children all did it too. (And they begat quite a lot of children, so it wasn’t just a fluke, because they really _all_ were full of love.) They multiplied, as God had told them to do, and Aziraphale wondered if this was perhaps part of the plan. The humans became numerous and spread across the whole world, taking their love with them to every metaphorical corner, filling the world with it.  
  
Of course, unfortunately, it could never stay that pure. Once a sinner, always a sinner, or something like that. The world was beautiful, and so were the humans, but the world was also harsh in many ways, and the humans didn’t always deal with that in the most graceful of ways. Oh, they were _inventive;_ they managed. But not without a few more sins along the way. That was what you got for having free will, Aziraphale supposed.  
  
(And so God… drowned them all-- but best not to dwell on it! It was part of the plan, after all, and it would all work out in the end. Aziraphale had faith! ...Even if sometimes he wanted to doubt. Like when God drowned everyone as a lesson. It was a little bit hard to learn from a lesson you didn’t survive, wasn’t it?)  
  
Anyway, the humans were definitely a mixed bag, as time went on. The world was a big place, full of hardship and so many influences. They were inundated with the Good and the Bad on a daily basis, and most of them only wanted to survive. And survive they had, because they were, as he’d said before, quite hardy.  
  
(Some were a little more ambitious than that, true. He remembered the big tower they’d made, trying to reach higher than God. Silly. Still he had to admit it was kind of exciting. God’s punishment had been even better; gave him lots of new languages to learn!)  
  
But even through the pain and the struggle of life on Earth when they couldn’t even fly or do miracles, the humans still held on to that aspect he’d first identified in them, that love. In one way, it was more present than it ever had been, there being rather more humans than ever before, and a low-grade love had slowly seeped into pretty much everything the humans interacted with. (Oh, the art! Especially the writings. You could really tell when someone had genuinely cared about what they were creating. That was the love that felt closest to home, the most God-like.)  
  
Furthermore, their particular kind of love when they were together was, he thought, really maybe what actually made the world go ‘round. (Metaphorically speaking, of course. _God_ made the world go ‘round, _obviously,_ but Aziraphale rather got the feeling that if the humans hadn’t had this love, they might have all just… stopped, had no reason to go on, and then what would have been the _point_ of the world any longer?) Though it wasn’t just when the humans were together in general. It’d been harder to tell when there were fewer of them, but the kind of love that really drove them was when were together, lovingly, with the one they liked the most.  
  
(And it wasn’t just the procreation, really! In fact, the two no longer seemed to be exclusive necessarily, if they ever had been.)  
  
Romantically! That was what it was. Lovingly… in a _special_ way. This was something very different from the low-grade love of the buildings and the books, or the love of a friend or a family member. It was different, even, than the love of God, because God loved everybody equally, and had certainly never had a spouse to share a different kind of love with (...that Aziraphale knew of?). No, this was unique to the humans. And Aziraphale _adored_ it.  
  
When he wasn’t busy reading, or eating, or doing something… important, you know, angelic or something, he took to watching them. Or just listening to them. Or being in their general vicinity. The lovers, that is. Not just humans in general. It was a little hard to escape _them._ But the lovers were a little bit more discreet. Or, rare. Not every pair of humans had that romance between them, but it was obvious when they did, and he was drawn to it. He spent a lot of time in places where the lovers went together, and sometimes he would multitask by reading or eating _while_ he listened to them murmur at each other from the next bench over at a park or a restaurant or under the starry night sky somewhere. (Humans loved starry night skies. They were apparently very romantic. Aziraphale agreed the stars were lovely; God had done a good job on them.)  
  
The humans never saw him, of course. They _could,_ but they didn’t, because he didn’t want to interrupt them. He was… well, not _jealous,_ not _envious._ Certainly not _covetous,_ goodness no. He liked what they had, so much so that he… couldn’t help but want something like that for himself sometimes. _But,_ of course, not enough to want to interrupt the humans. Love wasn’t like that. It wasn’t limited. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t have it because they were using it all up or anything of the sort. And of course he would never be so petty as to think that if he couldn’t have something then nobody deserved it. He was happy that the humans were happy, and for lack of his own love it was nice to get to experience theirs, if only vicariously.  
  
He did wonder, though, sometimes… if he could have something like that. Someday. In some capacity. He’d never noticed any of the other angels feel romantic towards one another-- or towards anything else, for that matter. Not towards humans, or other animals, or even towards God, even though, of course, they all loved God with every fiber of their being. Maybe that was why they didn’t feel romantic love, because they were too full of God’s love. (As if they had a limited capacity for love.) Or maybe God just… hadn’t made them the same way the humans had been made. Maybe they could _see_ the humans’ love, but not feel it themselves. Maybe angels weren’t destined for love. That was a painful prospect.  
  
Aziraphale decided not to believe that one. He decided to have faith in God. The humans had been given love, almost all of them! So why not him? Surely it was in the Almighty’s plan, _somewhere._ After all, love was… well, it was so _big._ It was integral to the humans, and the Earth. It kept them going ‘round. It kept _him_ going ‘round too, just the concept of it. So surely God had something in store for him. Right?  
  
He told himself this often, particularly when things seemed bleak. When there were wars, and he could hear the whispers from his fellows about the end-times, and Aziraphale’s heart clenched in his chest. God had a plan, and you couldn’t question it. It was _ineffable._ Surely it would work out.  
  
He spoke to Crowley of it sometimes. Not about the apocalypse, but about the humans.  
  
“Yeah, they’re an industrious lot,” the demon might say, as they sat on a bench in a park or at a restaurant or under a starry night sky, watching the people go about their business-- which often included being madly in love with each other, because Aziraphale was drawn to it.  
  
“Is love an _industry?”_ Aziraphale would ask, laughing in a somewhat skeptical manner.  
  
“Sure,” Crowley might say with a shrug. “They put a lot of work into it. Doesn’t come easy, from what I gather. All those courtship rituals, not to mention the _feelings._ Messy business. Quite a lot of chaos. Hearts get broken, lives ruined, but they keep at it.”  
  
Aziraphale would have hummed, looked over at Crowley from the corner of his eye. “It must be right up your alley then, as a demon and all.”  
  
“Oh, I _am_ a fan,” Crowley would say, with a smirk that maybe only God could understand. Aziraphale probably _thought_ he understood it, probably thought he was right, that Crowley just liked the chaos of romance, maybe prefered when it went bad. Not _too_ bad (he’d always known Crowley wasn’t nearly as evil as maybe he should have been), but just bad enough, just enough to sew some discord. Demons liked discord, didn’t they?  
  
But they would continue to sit maybe under the starry night sky and watch the humans be in love with each other, and he didn’t seem to mind that there wasn’t a lot of drama going on. 

At one point they invited themselves to the wedding of some king or another, and spent the duration ruminating on the whole concept. 

"Well it's rather romantic, isn't it?" Aziraphale offered. "To love someone so much you feel compelled to tell not only the whole world but also God?" If _he_ found a love like that, he would certainly want to shout it to the stars, and thank God for blessing him so. 

Crowley gave a contemplative frown. "Sure it isn't just an excuse for them to have a big party? I mean look at the size of that cake. Not a lot of reasons to have a cake that size unless you're getting wedded." 

"It _is_ a good cake," Aziraphale said with a shy smile between bites of the slice Crowley had stolen for him from the middle of it. He held up a forkful. "Would you like some?" 

"Oh, uh, nah," Crowley said, so casually dismissive one might think he really didn't care. He went back to looking at the bride and groom on the other side of the crowd. "They really do look happy though, don't they? Might just be because she's about to be very rich." 

Aziraphale wiped some stray frosting from the corner of his mouth. "Oh no," he said. "She's genuinely happy. They're both very in love with each other. It's quite enviable." 

_"Enviable?"_ Crowley raised both eyebrows at him. "Wishing it was you up on that stage?"

"I only meant that they're lucky," Aziraphale explained, taking rather a larger bite of cake and then taking a long moment to chew it while he looked away. Of course Crowley was still staring at him when he finished so he had to add further context. " _Lucky._ That God designed such perfect partners for them." 

"And you're _envious,"_ the demon said flatly, neither quite a statement nor a question. 

Aziraphale shook his head and hid behind his cake again. It was almost gone but he couldn't be bothered to miracle himself another slice, no matter how heavenly it was (in a manner of speaking). "No, no, of course not," he said, laughing in such a way as to imply it was ridiculous. "I just think they're lucky. That's all." 

Crowley didn't say anything to that but he hummed in a thoughtful way and handed Aziraphale another cake slice while he returned to watching the happy couple.  
  
It was some time later, some years, maybe decades, when Crowley made an offhand suggestion as they were perched on a hilltop, overlooking a city below them and trying to decide who, between the two of them, ought to stir things up down there. They’d gotten a little off-topic though, as they were wont to do when the weather was so nice. It was too easy for them to get distracted watching all the little people come and go, some alone, some in groups, some in pairs with their hands entwined.  
  
“Y’know I don’t think anybody cares if you talk to them,” Crowley said. “Well, not any more than they care what you do in general.”  
  
Aziraphale knew he meant Heaven, that Heaven wouldn’t care if he talked to the humans. “I know,” he replied. “I talk to them all the time. It’d be a bit hard to order food without speaking to anyone.”  
  
“Well you _could_ just…” Crowley waved a hand around, insinuating the usage of a miracle, even though no hand gestures were actually required to work them. “But that’s not what I mean, anyway. I mean… get to _know_ them, if you wanted. You know. _Personally.”_ When Aziraphale just stared at him he shook his head and said, “ _Biblically,_ angel. As long as you’re not making a bunch of nephilims, I don’t see what the harm’d be.”  
  
Stammering, Aziraphale failed to get out a good reply for a few long seconds, and then only managed, “What on Earth makes you think I’d want to do _that?”_  
  
“You’re always looking at them.”  
  
“I’m not peering in their windows, for the most part!” He’d watched them procreate before (not much he hadn’t watched, in the thousands of years), but he’d swear up and down it wasn’t a habit of his. Not, of course, that he could expect a demon to believe him, or understand the intricacies of his interest in love.  
  
Crowley waved a dismissive hand. “It was just a suggestion. You’ve indulged in pretty much every other Earthly delight, I gather. Never figured what was stopping you from trying out this one.”  
  
“Well it’s…” Aziraphale made a sighing noise that he didn’t intend to be a pout, but might have been one anyway. “I’m not interested in the carnal aspect! I’ve no doubt I could find a partner if I wished, but…” He gazed out over the town, feeling out the threads of love between pairs. “But you see, they were made for each other.”  
  
“Who?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow and glancing down at the town.  
  
“The lovers. They’re all part of the Divine Plan. In a small way, yes, but divine and planned all the same.” He glanced across at Crowley, just to see if he was listening, and then looked down at his feet. “It wouldn’t feel right to go down there and, and _tempt_ one into dallying with an angel. It’s not what they’re made for.”  
  
Frowning thoughtfully, Crowley made a suggestion that was all too casual. “I could do it for you. Tempt one for you,” he clarified. “What’s your type?”  
  
Almost unnoticed, Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat. Then he laughed, or maybe scoffed. “No, no,” he said. “Thank you, but I’m really not interested. I’m sure none of these humans were made for me. I trust that if it’s in the Almighty’s plan, it will come to be. I have faith.”  
  
It didn’t seem that Crowley thought very much of that, the look on his face being a mix of disgust and pity. “Faith,” he grumbled, like it was a four-letter word. “Alright, but what if the Divine Plan includes you taking matters into your own hands? I’m pretty sure God doesn’t come down and personally introduce every pair of lovers. They’ve got to put some of the legwork in themselves.”  
  
Aziraphale shook his head softly. “They’re humans. It’s different for them. It always has been, ever since Adam and Eve.”  
  
“So, you’re, what?” Crowley looked at him skeptically. “Waiting for a sign? A banner above someone’s head? ‘This one’s for you, Aziraphale’? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, angel, but _you’re_ the one supposed to be handing out signs.”  
  
A small huff that was _definitely_ somewhat of a pout escaped Aziraphale. “I don’t know!” he admitted, irritated. He didn’t know why he was sitting here, talking about this with a demon, except that Crowley listened and cared about what was probably a _stupid obsession,_ much more than he got the feeling any of his fellow angels would. A depressing thought, wasn’t it? That the person he was closest to, in Heaven or on Earth, was his hereditary enemy. That his _enemy_ was a better friend-- no, not friend. Companion? _No._ Ac...quaintance…? That a demon treated him better than his own allies!  
  
He found he couldn’t be as upset about it as he thought he ought. It was just nice to have somebody to talk to, be they angel, human, or otherwise.  
  
He was glad Crowley didn’t press the matter. He didn’t try to set Aziraphale up with any of the objectively attractive humans they ran across, even though he thought sometimes it seemed he was considering it. Walking down a crowded street to ...somewhere or another, he would sometimes point out a human and ask, “What about that one? Has that one got a lover?”  
  
And Aziraphale would look hard at the person. He couldn’t exactly _see_ the threads of love; honestly, the sense was more like a smell. But he would look at the person, and sometimes be able to tell if they’d recently been at home with their spouse, or were heading to see their paramour, and he’d tell Crowley, “yes”, or “no" if he didn’t sense it, and Crowley would just nod, curiosity apparently sated.  
  
“Why do you ask?” Aziraphale eventually inquired, wondering about the demon’s motivations, because he had to have some sort of motivation, didn’t he?  
  
“You got me curious,” Crowley said with a shrug. “You know, the way you were going on about it all being in The Plan. Or _planned,_ anyway. What’s it all matter if this one single human does or doesn’t end up with the right person?”  
  
“I, I’m not sure,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve told you before, it’s ineffable. Unknowable. I know there’s some reason to it all.”  
  
“ _How_ do you know?”  
  
Aziraphale thought about that for a moment. The truth was that he couldn’t possibly know. God could just be messing with them all and even the angels would have no idea. But in his heart, he knew that wasn’t the case. “I feel it,” he said. “Every person is put on Earth for a reason. Every love is designed with a purpose. I’m sure. I’m sure I wouldn’t feel it so strongly if it was all for nothing.”  
  
Crowley hummed, considering. “Well you _are_ the angel,” he said, but he didn’t sound as skeptical as a demon should. If Aziraphale didn’t know better, he would be tempted to think that his demonic… cohort was coming around to the idea. That was ridiculous, of course, but one could hope. Hope was what drove him, after all.  
  
It was a bit unfortunate, nearing the end, hope being the one thing he couldn’t dispense with. The problem was, as time went on, he found himself hoping for something that had no reason to ever come true. He found himself hoping--  
  
(And, now, this was ridiculous! So ridiculous it hardly bore considering! And yet, here he was considering it, realizing, slowly, over years and decades that he’d been nursing this hope so much longer than anyone on Earth had ever hoped for anything.)  
  
\--hoping that he might share the love of one specific person. And, unfortunately, that specific person was the demon Crowley.  
  
Oh, _unfortunate_ didn’t even begin to cover it. Finding himself in love with Crowley? That was unfortunate, because he knew it made him do all sorts of things he wouldn’t have done otherwise. Everything he’d done in regards to Crowley the past… several millennia or so? He saw his own actions in a new light now. And everything he would do in the future, if he wasn’t careful, would be influenced by his love of Crowley too, he knew. Definitely unfortunate, but not devastating, considering it had been that way for ages and he’d only just noticed.  
  
What was _devastating_ was the fact that he was hoping, somehow, that… that God had made them for each other. That they were part of the Great ineffable Plan, like all the lovers that made the world go ‘round. And that thought nearly threw him into a pit of despair, because _how could that be?_ Regardless of his own sense of self-worth (Aziraphale knew he was important, otherwise God would never have made him, and it was as simple as that), how could he possibly hope that God had designed for him _a demon_ to love him all his days? Six-thousand long years and such a pair had never been seen. Surely he would have noticed! Unless God had flung them off to the stars together, or something like that. And even then he expected he’d have heard some gossip, something so scandalous. (Not that anything God could do was ever scandalous, but if the other angels didn’t sense love the way he did (and he still wasn’t sure whether they did or didn’t), then they might have expected it was just an affair, and that certainly would have seemed scandalous, and ripe for Heavenly gossip.)  
  
And that was part of the problem. Aziraphale realizing he loved Crowley meant _nothing,_ in the grand scheme of it all. People fell in love with others _all the time._ True it was the human _pairs_ he fixated on most, the ones that had come together in the full glory of their love for one another, but it didn’t always work out that way. One person with an infatuation did not a couple make. There was no shame (for humans, at least) in falling in love with another, even if nothing came of it. It was an aspect of personal growth. But even if two people found themselves attracted to one another, even if they _married,_ it wasn’t always the pairing that God had intended. They had free will, after all, the humans.  
  
So it meant nothing that Aziraphale was in love with Crowley, and it meant similarly little that he sometimes, _sometimes,_ thought it seemed that Crowley inexplicably felt something for him as well. Attraction, infatuation, even _friendship_ (though he was loathe to admit it aloud). None of those things meant they were destined for each other, that they could have the love that had ensnared him the first time Adam and Eve looked into each others’ eyes.  
  
And yet… he hoped.  
  
And he had faith that God’s plan was perfect. He had to. There was nothing else he could do. It was not in his nature to cast aside his faith. He could partake of all the Earthly pleasures laid out like a buffet upon this wonderful planet, but he knew only throwing down his faith would make him fall. So he clung to it, even as it hurt, even as he knew there was no way it could work out in his favor. If he didn’t have faith, he would have nothing at all. Maybe if he fell, Crowley would catch him, and maybe Crowley _was_ infatuated with him and they could spend the rest of the age of Earth together, avoiding Hell (because Aziraphale knew Crowley had no love for the place, and he couldn’t imagine doing so either, fallen or not), and maybe they would even have a good time of it, but if it wasn’t in God’s plan then he knew it would just feel hollow. He wanted Crowley’s true love, the love like humans had, the love God had given _them_ but so far not deigned to bless any of Heaven’s first children with. He wanted something he couldn’t have, and it hurt.  
  
Crowley noticed. Of course he did. “What’s got your feathers all ruffled now, angel?” he asked as they sat at a cafe just after dark one night, Aziraphale sullenly observing those around him, eating cake with much less gusto than he normally would.  
  
“It’s nothing,” Aziraphale said by instinct. “Just having an off day.”  
  
“It’s _not nothing,”_ Crowley insisted. “You’ve been getting gloomier for years now! You’re not still pining for a _romance,_ are you?” (He said the word as if it was rotting on his tongue.) “Alright, what do you want? Man? Woman? Something else entirely? I’ll set you up! Whatever it takes to get a smile on that… dumb face of yours.”  
  
Aziraphale did smile then, thin and watery but a smile none-the-less. It almost even reached his eyes. Oh, how bittersweet to know that Crowley cared for his happiness. But he shook his head. He didn’t want Crowley’s matchmaking skills, and the demon knew it, same as he had known it for years.  
  
Swallowing, Aziraphale arranged the words carefully on his tongue. “Are you ever bothered by… doubt?” he asked.  
  
“...Eh, not anymore,” Crowley said, after a very short moment of consideration. “Demons are supposed to doubt, aren’t they? Doubt, hate, fuck things up for other people. I guess I’ve just learned to roll with it.”  
  
“I can’t,” Aziraphale said softly.  
  
“Yeah, I s’pose not,” Crowley said. "Your nature and all."  
  
“But I want to, sometimes.”  
  
Crowley narrowed his eyes at him behind his glasses, his brow bunching along the frames. “Want to what now?”  
  
Aziraphale glanced at him, and then intended to look away but found he couldn’t. “Doubt,” he said. “I _want_ to doubt, because I’m afraid that God’s plan… isn’t what I want it to be.”  
  
“What, that God doesn’t have some great love set aside for you?” Crowley asked, and Aziraphale noticed that he was entirely serious about it. Not an ounce of mocking. The sincerity hurt more than it should.  
  
“In a manner of speaking,” he replied, finally wrenching his eyes from the glowing gold he knew was under Crowley’s glasses.  
  
“‘Manner of speaking’,” Crowley repeated. “What. You don’t think the Almighty’s going to try to set you up with _Gabriel_ or someone.” (“The massive prick,” he muttered.)  
  
“Good _Heavens,_ I hope not!”  
  
The idea of suddenly finding himself in reciprocal love with Gabriel after several thousand years of less than cordial relations was absurd enough to break Aziraphale out of his gloom at least for the rest of the evening, and they finished their meal in relative good spirits.  
  
“Buck up, angel,” Crowley said as they strolled down the road back to his bookstore, nudging him in the side with his elbow and making him have to suppress a shiver of anticipation. “If it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be. That’s what you always say. And if it’s not meant to be, then… who cares? Just do whatever you want. Maybe _that’s_ what God planned.”  
  
Aziraphale laughed, turning to face Crowley as they stood in front of the shop door. “That doesn’t make any sense, but thank you. I appreciate your efforts to cheer me up.”  
  
“Did it work?”  
  
Nodding, Aziraphale said, “After the idea of being pair-bonded to Gabriel, I find the concept of being alone much less distressing.”  
  
“Ah, well you’re not alone,” Crowley said. “You’ve got me, if nothin’ else.”  
  
He had his hands jammed in his pockets and he looked the perfect picture of carefree and Aziraphale wanted to cry because… the _damned demon_ didn’t know what he was saying. Or maybe he did. Either way, he was simultaneously touched and crushed.  
  
“Yes,” he said, smiling sadly. “I suppose I do. ...Goodnight, Crowley.”  
  
“G’night, angel.”  
  
He spent the rest of the night reading by lamp-light, various translations of the Bible and human accounts of fallen angels. The stories were always either frightening and grotesque or highly fantastical. The humans always had such a romantic notion about such things, like there was something grand about divine punishment so absolute it could change your entire nature. Like there was something beautiful in the fall. Very imaginative; he had to give the humans credit for that, at least, but they could only ever judge a situation by their own experiences, and there was simply nothing like falling that any human could ever go through. (What a blessing for them, to just… _be_ what they were, with no threat of ever _not_ being that.)  
  
Well he wasn’t about to go track down the authors and tell them they’d got it wrong, anyway, or try to explain that disappointing God and falling from grace was necessarily a bit more serious than disappointing your parents or boss, because, generally speaking, human authority figures were not capable of casting you into the fiery pits of Hell and revoking your humanity. (What a world _that_ would have been, eh?)  
  
He let himself wallow in self-pity for the evening, but when the light of morning shined down on his sleepless form, he took a deep breath and decided to ‘buck up’, as Crowley had suggested. The demon was right. What was meant to be would come about in some way or another. It always had. And regardless of it all, he _did_ have Crowley to meet him for the occasional dinner and affectionate banter. Was it what he wanted? Well, yes. It wasn’t _all_ he wanted, but he’d never been one to take for granted his blessings, great and small. God had truly given him a good life so far, and there was no reason to think that wouldn’t continue, as long as he kept his faith.  
  
But then, of course, the antichrist was born.  
  
Aziraphale had been trying his very best to stay his treacherous hope (he couldn’t get rid of it for the life of him, would rather be painfully discorporated, but he kept it under careful observation) and keep faith that God would guide him well. He’d been doing a pretty good job of it, according to the absence of pitying and worried looks from Crowley, but then when the demon called him one night and announced that the antichrist had been placed on Earth, it all came crashing down. At least Crowley didn’t point out Aziraphale’s sudden anxiety, given that it was now extremely appropriate. He seemed to feel the same way.  
  
“Well, this is it, angel,” he said, as they spent the evening wallowing in shared self-pity together. “We’ve had a good run, and y’know I wouldn’t have changed it for the world. But now I guess the world’s changing it for _us.”_  
  
He’d thought about it before, idly, a few times; what would happen after the apocalypse. It rather went without saying that he wouldn’t see Crowley again. Earth was where they met, and when the Earth was gone there would be only Heaven and Hell, and never the twain would meet, he assumed. That was, of course, assuming that God didn’t simply obliterate Hell and all its operatives, which seemed the likelier course. Aziraphale doubted the demons would be given the chance to repent like the humans supposedly would. And then… then what? The rest of eternity, spent in the stifling emptiness of Heaven, without Crowley, and knowing there wouldn’t be a soul he could even tell of his love for fear of being labeled a traitor. He _wasn’t_ a traitor! He loved God. He just… loved Crowley too.  
  
That night, after Crowley left, Aziraphale found himself in a slump again. (More of a slump than when the demon had been around, Crowley’s presence always lifting his spirits, even when they were both just lamenting the Earth’s imminent demise.) He found himself doing something he didn’t normally do: praying.  
  
Praying was rather a human thing. It was what they did because they had nothing else. They’d never seen God, nor heard God. (Not most of them, anyway.) It didn’t matter that God saw and heard _everything, all the time._ Prayer was making a conscious effort, saying ‘I know you hear me’, _begging_ to be answered. And angels didn’t beg God, because there was no need. They were God’s messengers, meant to follow the Lord’s orders. They weren’t self-serving enough to need anything more than what God had given them at their birth (which included their orders), and there was never any good reason to ask questions. So prayer was more than a bit superfluous.  
  
Aziraphale was desperate, and he was more than willing to humble himself before the Lord if it meant there was any chance, _any chance at all,_ of this not ending in disaster.  
  
“Hello,” he started awkwardly, eyes closed, hands clasped before him. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve spoken. Hopefully you’re well. Ah, well, of course you are. I… I’m not.” He opened his eyes and glanced around as if he couldn’t help himself, as if he thought he might see God standing there in his bookshop, but closed them again with a sad shake of his head. “I hear you’re going ahead with the whole apocalypse thing. That’s grand and all, really, and I would never question the Divine Plan, but… do you think there might be any way it could be… avoided? It’s just that… well I’ve become rather fond of this place. Six thousand years down here and all. It’s quite a remarkable creation, as I’m sure you know. Seems a waste to be rid of it. Not to mention all the lives. I know they’ll all be given a chance to go to Heaven, but most of them appear to like it here. I’d wager they like it more than they’d like Heaven. You did create it for them, after all. It suits them rather well...”  
  
Sighing, he opened his eyes again and stared at the wall across from him. It was hard, even though he wasn’t face-to-face (or face-to-sunbeam, as it were) with God, but after a moment he scraped up just enough courage to forge on. “It’s only that… I’m not ready. There’s still so much I’ve yet to experience. And…” He swallowed a nervous lump in his throat. “And I wouldn’t be a good soldier, I’m sure. The final battle holds no appeal to me, slaying demons and such. I get a bit ill when I think of it, actually. ...I’m sure you know why…”  
  
He sat there a moment in silence, shifting his gaze over when a stray particle of light caught his eye. He took a deep breath, but it was too heavy when he released it, caught uncomfortably between sigh and sob, and he bent his head down into his hands. “I just don’t know what to do. I _trust you,_ I do! But I’m lost. I don’t know what to do next, whether to let things play out as they will, or to take a greater part in it. What would you have of me?”  
  
Not unexpectedly, God did not answer. Aziraphale went to bed unsatisfied and with the same lingering sense of foreboding and fear that had been growing in him like a cancer. He didn’t want to admit it, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before he would finally have to choose something, and he didn’t imagine he would be pleased with any of his options.   
  
But then, unexpectedly, there came another option. A chance. Maybe God wouldn’t speak to him and tell him that Armageddon was cancelled and that he could have some more time here to figure out his feelings, but Crowley very helpfully suggested that perhaps they could cancel it on their own, just by influencing the child in a balanced way. It seemed like such an amazingly good idea, that Aziraphale could help stop the apocalypse while not technically disobeying orders (because what could be wrong about teaching kindness and reverence to a child in need?), that he probably should have known it was too good to be true.  
  
It was a weird next eleven years.  
  
Most certainly, Aziraphale was in much greater spirits for the majority of it; it was always a relief to have some sort of plan to follow. _Knowing_ that plan was even better. Knowing that it would extend the life of the Earth (and therefore his relationship with Crowley, such as it was) lifted quite a weight off his heart, and he poured his effort into influencing young Warlock to be _just a little bit_ more Good than Evil.  
  
He saw Crowley a good amount during that time, considerably more than he had any time in the previous thousand years, since they’d started calling upon each other socially. Though having a plan was a relief, Aziraphale was still a little nervous, knowing it could go wrong at any time and in so many ways, and Crowley seemed to feel the same. There was nothing else they could do that they weren’t already doing, so they took to staying in each others’ company as much as possible, in case it really was their last chance.  
  
“Do you ever think about all those centuries that went by and we hardly saw each other?” Crowley ask, lounging on a couch in the back of the shop while Aziraphale did his nightly sums. “Particularly in the B.C. What was the longest time? Maybe… six hundred years, and we didn’t speak a once?”  
  
Aziraphale hummed distractedly. “Last I recall seeing you was about 500 _Anno Mundi_ before you popped back up around Noah’s birth _._ I’d always wondered why you seemed to be avoiding Adam’s line after Jared. You’d always come to take a look before.”  
  
“Think it was Enoch. Kid gave me the willies. The _holy_ willies, I mean.”  
  
“Oh, hm, I can understand that,” Aziraphale said. “He was a bit holier than thou. Holier than _me,_ I expect, becoming the Metatron and all. But as you were saying?”  
  
“Oh, just that it was a long time,” Crowley said with a shrug. “A whole tenth of our lives, if you think about it. And then all the years after that, decades and centuries where we were so… _busy,_ working tirelessly for our respective companies and then, you know, all for what? In the end nothing we did will really matter because it’s all going to be destroyed, and it’ll turn out we could’ve just spent the whole time traveling together and nobody would’ve cared.”  
  
Despite himself, Aziraphale grimaced. As time went on, he got the feeling Crowley was right that their offices neither really knew nor cared what they were up to, as long as they were quiet about it. He hated to admit it though, because then it became a regret. “Oh, I wouldn’t say nothing we did mattered,” he said, trying to sound sure. “Even if the Earth ended today, we still had an effect on the humans who have lived up until this point. After all, without you, students across the world wouldn’t have the pleasure of reading Hamlet as part of their studies.”  
  
Crowley laughed. “Oh I’m sure they’re all very thankful.” He shook his head, the humor fading back into wistfulness. “I just think I’d have spent my early years a little differently if I’d known--” He waved his hand around at ‘all this’. “Ah well, hindsight’s 20/20, I guess. Unless you’re God. Y’think God has _40/_ 20 hindsight? 100/20?”  
  
“ _Million/_ 20,” Aziraphale said, shutting his sums book. “Like a microscope.”  
  
“Telescope,” Crowley suggested, and Aziraphale got up to pour them more sherry, because a conversation like this could only benefit from increased consumption of alcohol.  
  
And they drank. This was not uncommon, as the years wore on, the alcohol loosening their nerves and tongues, at least for a little while. It didn’t quite give Aziraphale the courage or stupidity to finally make the decision he’d been sitting on for so long, but it did make Crowley more sentimental.  
  
“But _do_ you ever think about it, angel? All that time we didn’t spend together?”  
  
Aziraphale shook his head, though it wasn’t a ‘no’ and he hoped Crowley understood without him having to say it. “I try not to,” he said instead, and Crowley nodded.  
  
“Because then you’d have to think about how it _could_ have been,” Crowley said, struggling upright from his vaguely drunken slouch. It only half worked, and he leaned heavily against the armrest, looking pitiful-- which was about how Aziraphale felt. Lord, they were really two birds of a feather, weren’t they? Some sort of black-and-white bird. A magpie, maybe.  
  
“It couldn’t have ever been any other way, Crowley,” he said sadly, partly knowing that he was just repeating what he was supposed to believe, and partly believing that it was true. “If it _could_ have been, it _would_ have been.”  
  
“Or maybe if it would have been, it could have been!” Crowley retorted, a little bit angry, or maybe just exasperated. “Maybe if we make it so, then it _can_ be. Just like with the boy. Maybe possibility is just waiting on us to decide it’s a thing!”  
  
He knew what Crowley was talking about, even if he tried to pretend he didn’t. Oh _God,_ he wished he didn’t know. He clenched his jaw; he couldn’t have this conversation. “Well we can’t change the past,” he said.  
  
Crowley groaned and sat up straighter just so he could hunch down over what was left of his drink. “Don’t act all obtuse, angel. It’s only cute when you’re not doing it on purpose.”  
  
Aziraphale shrugged and sipped his drink, and that particular line of conversation ended there. They could discuss the illusion of choice and Aziraphale’s hypocrisy another time, or perhaps never.  
  
Despite the fact that Crowley occasionally got on his nerves from trying to convince him that they could have any sort of life other than exactly the one they had (and Aziraphale did believe that on a _small scale,_ like knowing that he could have crepes or an English muffin for breakfast, or even skip the meal although if he was feeling particularly masochistic that day, and that it wouldn’t really matter one way or the other, but _couldn’t_ believe it on a large scale because the _Plan,_ the Great ineffable Plan!, and there was nothing he could do about it, and _ughhh,_ how was he supposed to explain this to a demon that had question in his blood?), Aziraphale still couldn’t help but want to see him every day, which was good because that was, in a way, his job. They both went to Warlock’s oversized estate nearly every day, and then out for dinner when the day was done, so they did end up seeing quite a lot of each other.  
  
Honestly, it was a unique sort of torture for Aziraphale. But that was his relationship with Crowley in a nutshell. Everything he wanted, and nothing he could truly have. The joy of his presence, and the pain of knowing it couldn’t last. The blessing of his friendship; the temptation to ask for more. The duality of it was so painful some days he almost _wanted_ the end to come. Not… _really._ But in a manner of speaking.  
  
Of course, what he wanted had next to no bearing on what he got, as usual. Time went on, uninterrupted, for several years, until about the time Warlock was turning eleven. Crowley and Aziraphale’s drinking dates (not that anybody referred to them as such) increased from maybe once a week to… about whenever they had free time. Aziraphale drunkenly prayed to God each night afterward, and drunkenly received no response.  
  
“I’m begging you, God, I’m _begging you,”_ he called, the night before Warlock’s birthday. “Let him turn the dog away tomorrow. The world doesn’t _have_ to be destroyed, does it? The humans, they’re all very good deep down inside. There’s no reason to kill them all. They’re happy! _I’m_ happy. Everyone’s happy! If he turns the dog away and doesn’t call the Horsemen, then… we can all just keep being happy. Can’t we?”  
  
God would know he was lying, of course, but his inner self was in such turmoil he didn’t think he could tell the whole truth (so help him God) if his life literally depended on it. In fact, the reason he lied so effortlessly was because he rather thought his life _did_ depend on it, that telling the truth would make him fall.  
  
He thought about it. The temptation was an itch, while the faith he barely clung to was a fierce stinging. What if he _did_ fall? What if he told God once and for all that he was in love with Crowley? That he didn’t believe in the plan? (Excuse him, _the Plan.)_ That he _didn’t_ think God was guiding him to a truly just fate, a fate he deserved and was befitting him? That he wanted nothing to do with the whole thing if it didn’t spare the only person he’d ever really cared about in this wide world! He was running out of time. If Warlock named the Hell Hound tomorrow, there would be only days for him to choose his ending, and by then it might be too late. The forces of Heaven and Hell were already mobilizing, and if the Antichrist came into his power, there was no guaranteeing that he wouldn’t just do away with them on the spot (especially if he realized his Nanny and gardener had been lying to him for six years).  
  
It was too much, so he just prayed his white lies like that would fix anything and then failed to sleep the rest of the night.  
  
The dog didn’t show up the next afternoon. Not at 3pm like it was supposed to, and not a little bit late like you could expect a demon might do. It didn’t present itself to Warlock at all, which they later and very belatedly realized was because they’d got the whole thing so very extremely wrong.  
  
As it turned out, Warlock wasn’t the Antichrist. Now this would be lovely, if it didn’t mean that the real Antichrist was still somewhere out there, and they had to go find him. This resulted in a lot of running around like chickens with their heads cut off while they tried to fix everything and not let on to their superiors that they were doing so, because they seemed to be the only two people in all of creation who _didn’t_ want Armageddon (not counting the humans, because of course neither Heaven nor Hell bothered to care what humans thought. And anyway, most of them weren’t aware, luckily, or there’d be chaos).  
  
“I’m out of ideas, angel,” Crowley said, desperation laced tight through his voice. “I don’t know how to stop this thing and I don’t like our chances if we stick around to see it through.”  
  
Aziraphale felt just about identically. But when Crowley suggested they run off to the stars together, because they’d been _friends_ for six-thousand years (proving that Crowley had cared for him as long as _he_ had, but not proving that he cared as deeply and _oh_ if he’d just _said it,_ if one of them would just say it!), Aziraphale couldn’t agree. Even though he wanted to. A day ‘til all Heaven and Hell broke loose upon the Earth, and still he was frozen in indecision. Cowardice, to not be able to choose one or the other.  
  
Before he could change his mind, he told Crowley it was over. Then he watched the man’s back as he walked away, and he thought that might finally be it. He would go home and try one more time to get through to God; there was a way of initiating a face-to-face (sort of), and although it was about as reliable as phone support for any sort of customer service, he was sure, _sure,_ he would have results this time. With what faith he managed to retain, he could feel it.  
  
He was waylaid by a trio of pissy archangels who threatened him and hinted that Crowley wasn’t escaping to the stars as easily as Aziraphale had hoped (and it was rather telling, that the angels were in contact enough with the demons to be aware of their internal affairs), but they were called to battle before they could get on with the lynching, and Aziraphale had to count his blessings.  
  
He died when he got back to the shop. Discorporated, anyway, after an unsuccessful attempt at being patched through to God. _Metatron._ Very unhelpful. Bitterly, Aziraphale wished he’d joined Crowley in skipping out on Enoch’s birth, back in 600AM or whenever. What an upstart. Voice of God. How pretentious. He didn’t have but a moment to think rude things about the archangel when Sergeant Shadwell burst in and effectively murdered him. The leftover rude thoughts came out in a very rude word, and he thought it might have been cathartic if he wasn’t still in such a dire straight, because he then found himself in Heaven with an irritable Quartermaster and could only escape back to Earth by possessing a medium (who happened to be his murderer's would-be girlfriend. Small world).  
  
Everything after that happened very fast. He really didn’t have time to think about Crowley. He still _did,_ of course, but not on purpose. He was trying to think of ways to stop the world from ending, but the ride to Tadfield gave him just enough downtime to dwell on how badly he’d messed up by not telling Crowley how he really felt. To fall now, after all this time, would have been severely dissatisfying, but compared to the idea of enduring all of eternity knowing he hadn’t thanked Crowley with the honesty he deserved? It would have been worse. In the half-hour it took to drive to the end of the Earth, Aziraphale had become rather certain he’d prefer to die a demon than live as an angel, if living meant he had to lie any longer-- both to Crowley and God. It would still be dangerous to Crowley if his people found out there was an angel in love with him (because what kind of demon is kind enough and pure enough that an angel could love him?), but he wasn’t intending to shout it to the entire Heavens-- at least not if Crowley didn’t want him to. And anyway, if they were all going to die very soon, what did it matter?  
  
“You poor dear,” Madame Tracy cooed as they sped down the street. “I’m not _entirely_ sure I understand quite what you’re going through, but that does sound like a predicament.”  
  
Shadwell shouted over the noise of the wind: “What’re you goin’ on about now, Jezebel?!”  
  
“That’s none of your business!” she shouted back. “I’m talking to Mr. Aziraphale!”  
  
“ _‘Mr. Aziraphale’,”_ Shadwell mocked quietly, as if he were somehow jealous.  
  
_‘I appreciate the sentiment,’_ Aziraphale thought at Madame Tracy, a little bit embarrassed because he hadn’t really considered that she could sense what was going through his head. He supposed it made sense, since it was, really, _her_ head.  
  
“You know, I’ve always thought it best to be upfront about your feelings,” she told him, and when he thought rather pointedly about how she clearly had ‘feelings’ for Sergeant Shadwell and had scarcely done more than hint at them (because he could see her thoughts too, faint memories of having dinner with the man and softly-spoken compliments), she laughed. “If you think those were only _hints,_ I see why you’re having a problem!”  
  
Aziraphale felt very… ‘called out’.  
  
They arrived at the airbase soon, where the end of the world would be happening. Crowley’s car exploded. Some eleven-year-olds destroyed the three not-entirely-immortal Horsemen. Gabriel and Beelzebub tried to start a war and Aziraphale logicked them into a stalemate. Satan showed up, and then disappeared. It was all very dramatic. (He got his body back along the way, in a stroke of luck.) He also got another of Agnes’ prophecies, though he didn’t really have the time to think about it, what with Crowley being there by his side.  
  
“You can stay at my place, if you like,” Crowley said that evening, as they were catching a bus back home. Just as his car had exploded, so, apparently, had Aziraphale’s bookstore. He gave a token protest, said something about sides that even he knew was completely untrue. (Not that his side would be totally alright with him staying with Crowley. Not at all; they’d be disgusted. Or, faux-disgusted, anyway; virtue signaling like always. And realizing that that was all they’d ever been doing-- not standing up for real morals and beliefs, not even reacting through real instinct-- made Aziraphale feel so much better about not giving _a shit_ what they thought. They were going to be pissed at him no matter what he did, so he figured he might as well do what he liked, and it would be between him, Crowley, and God.) After Crowley confirmed so apologetically that he didn’t think either of them could go back to their respective sides, as if he thought the angel might be heartbroken by it, Aziraphale thanked him and agreed to stay the night. He only barely refrained from using the excuse that he had nowhere else to go. Crowley deserved a lot more than excuses now, after they’d survived all the insurmountable odds together, and it was long-past time to stop trying to save face.  
  
They’d barely gotten into the apartment when Aziraphale took a deep breath and started. “Uh, Crowley. There’s something I’d like to speak to you about.”  
  
Crowley looked over to him in mild alarm. Or, he’d probably meant to make it seem like mild alarm, but the tension was suddenly thick. “Sure,” he said, with a shaky, too-casual shrug.  
  
Aziraphale cleared his throat, stood up straight with his hands behind his back, and started to pace along a wall with several ornate paintings on it. “I… I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this for a long time. Or rather, I’ve been trying to decide if I should say it at all. So, actually, I haven’t put much thought at all into how to say it, having just decided that I _should_ say it.”  
  
“Angel, get on with it,” Crowley said, though it sounded much less exasperated than it normally would, and much more faint.  
  
“I intend to,” Aziraphale said with a slightly queasy nod. He glanced around at a couple different things; unfortunately there wasn’t much to look at in the cold geometry of the room, and he ended up looking at Crowley, and probably grimacing. “Well, you see… It’s, very difficult for me. You’ve been my most constant companion for quite some time! And I think that only makes this harder…”  
  
Crowley was starting to look ill, but he kept his mouth shut and his eyes locked on Aziraphale as the angel tried to muddle through his speech. It really was difficult, because all this time had been spent deliberating if he should take the plunge, not scripting his monologue.  
  
“It’s hard to know where to start,” he said softly. “You know I’ve always tried to hold to God’s plan, to keep faith that everything would be as it should be. And I thought I _knew_ how it was going to be. I thought… I really thought we were going to die today. Or, well, that _you_ would die, at least. Good triumphing over Evil and all that, in the great war.”  
  
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Crowley said, almost drily.  
  
Aziraphale shook his head. “It’s got nothing to do with _you._ That’s just… the Plan. Or it _was_ the Plan, as far as anyone knew. I’m as shocked as anyone that it happened differently-- and more relieved than I can say! Because, you see… I wasn’t going to let it happen.”  
  
Now Crowley looked openly disdainful. “Oh, so you had some sort of great idea that you were just holding onto until the last minute?” he asked, obviously skeptical.  
  
“Well, _yes,”_ Aziraphale said, letting loose a gentle smile that fully encapsulated all his love, his sadness, and his resolution. “I don’t think it would have done much good, but I’d planned to defend you. Against the forces of Heaven, you know. In… in the battle.” His smile faded into somewhat of a grimace. “If it came down to it, I was rather certain I would have preferred to fall and die than see you suffer the fate _‘my side’_ intended for you.”  
  
All animosity fell from Crowley’s face-- all the animosity that had _ever_ graced his countenance. He looked like he didn’t know the _meaning_ of anger; only tentative hope. “Really?” he asked so quietly his mouth barely moved.  
  
“Yes,” Aziraphale said simply. “Without hesitation.”  
  
Finally Crowley’s mouth did fall open, though no words came out for a very long time. (The silence would have been maddening, waiting for Crowley to have some reaction, and it was, but Aziraphale was also just overwhelmed with relief to have admitted at least this much.) When Crowley managed to cobble together a few words, what he said was, “Well I guess it’s a good thing it worked out the way it did then. Would’ve been some kind of ironic, to fall after six-thousand years.”  
  
Aziraphale tilted his head acquiescently. “I thought so too. I thought it would have been a terrible sort of poetic justice, for all the…" He swallowed thickly. "...lies. It would have been fitting. Mind, I wasn't exactly looking forward to it. The idea still terrifies me." 

"Right," Crowley said, sort of the type of thing one says when they're not sure what else to say, when there are a million possible responses but not one of them seems appropriate. "Well. That's alright then. Crisis averted, we can all go back to normal now. Want some tea or something?" 

"I'm afraid not," Aziraphale said, then clicked his tongue at himself. "Tea, yes, thank you. But about going back to normal, well I'm afraid that's just not possible." 

Crowley obviously didn't understand the gravitas of what Aziraphale was saying; or maybe he just didn't want to. He turned to lead the way to the kitchen. "Some kind of normal, anyway," he said. "I _am_ really sorry about your shop. You own the plot right? I'll help you rebuild it." 

The offer was very sweet, but Aziraphale shook his head. (He knew Crowley would notice, even though he was turned away.) "I don't care about the bookshop. I _do,_ but that's not what I mean. Crowley--! Ah… I really was expecting the world to end today. That we should both die in the flames of war, or… however they’d have done it. Coming to terms with everything that meant, well it’s simply... not the sort of thing one comes back from.”  
  
Paused in the sleek cell-like hallway, Crowley turned around, and Aziraphale could see in his eyes the sudden concern and a question. _‘You’re hurt?’_ And Aziraphale hoped Crowley could see the answer in his own eyes: _‘I’ve been hurting for a very long time.’_  
  
"I don't believe I could go back to the way things were," he told the demon, still with the uncomfortable smile. "I'm… _changed,_ you see." 

"You're not--..." Alarmed, Crowley looked Aziraphale over, like he might see the evidence of the fall in his Earthly form. 

"No," Aziraphale said. "...I don't think. Not yet." 

Crowley drew back as if Aziraphale was suddenly very frightening. " _'Yet'?_ No, angel, you've held on for six-thousand years! That's a long time! God knows I didn't make it anywhere near as far. What would make you fall _now,_ after everything's turned out?" 

"Well, um." Aziraphale fidgeted. "Uh. You see, I've had a lot of time to think about this, and… God's Plan? I'm… not sure I want to believe in it anymore." 

Crowley stared in disbelief. "Now? After everything that's happened?" 

Grimacing, Aziraphale gave the tiniest of shrugs. "It all got to be a bit much." 

"And what was the straw the broke the angel's back?" 

Aziraphale closed his eyes against having to answer the question. It was _the one,_ the answer that told his greatest secret and which would damn him. "I realized that I wanted something God would never give me. Something, you know, that couldn't possibly be in the Plan." 

"Something you'd be willing to fall for?" Crowley asked, looking sorry and sad and tired. 

"I find I didn't have much say in the matter," Aziraphale said, and he almost laughed about it. _"Feelings,_ you know. Messy business. Quite a lot of chaos. No self-respecting angel would allow himself to fall prey to such things, right? I think I've long known I didn't fit in." 

Crowley's brows drew down over wide eyes and a scowl. "This is about _love?_ What, because you want a romance? God's not going to let you fall because of that!" 

"Not because of love," Aziraphale explained. "...Because of you." 

"How's this _my--?"_ Crowley began to ask, but Aziraphale closed the gap between them, pressing himself gently into Crowley's space. He laid his hands on the demon's upper arms and tilted his head up just enough to brush his lips against Crowley's, like he'd seen human lovers do time and again, a soft small gesture meant to express a deep affection. 

"I love you," he said, in answer to the unasked question. "I can't stop. And I can't continue following God's Plan if it leads me away from you. I'd rather face Hell. I'd rather face oblivion." 

"Angel…" Crowley said softly, setting his own hands up on Aziraphale's shoulders, long fingers just grazing the short hairs on the back of his neck. "Aziraphale… You're so daft." 

"I am rather, aren't I?" He laughed, some combination of self-depreciation and relief. "I should have done this millennia ago, shouldn't I have?" 

Finally Crowley smiled, a companion piece to Aziraphale's. "I can't disagree with that," he said through his grin, twining himself just a little closer. But as the weight of him settled down against Aziraphale in a way he'd always wished for, near and comfortable and safe, Crowley asked in just more than a whisper, "Are you sure this is what you want? You might still be able to take it back. You won't be able to return to the other angels, but I know…" 

He didn't say the words. Maybe they would have felt strange coming out of his mouth, after having been a demon so long. But Crowley knew, possibly because in some ways he felt the same, that Aziraphale really loved _being an angel,_ that he cherished his relationship with God. The social aspect aside, it was no small issue to fall. And to do so on purpose was to reject their divine creator, the one who made them what they were and gave them everything. Crowley understood, and maybe that was why Aziraphale knew he could do this. 

"I can't take it back, Crowley," Aziraphale said, shaking his head fondly because it meant a lot to him that Crowley was giving him this opportunity. "The Almighty already knows, and-- I couldn't live with such a lie. I’ve been far more blessed than I might have deserved. Even now, I know I’ll be getting a better deal than most of your lot did.”  
  
And that was truer than he’d really considered before, in his fear. The idea of falling was, in some aspects, worse than the prospect of dying. _Really_ dying, not just discorporating. It was a failure one would have to live with for the rest of their miserable life, and life as a demon was sure to be miserable for most. But Aziraphale already knew he’d have it better, having made the choice on his own, and for love. There would still be a touch of the divine in him if he could fall with grace, a swan dive instead of just being pitched off a cliff, and to know he could be with Crowley through it was better yet.  
  
Crowley seemed unsure, but not enough to unwrap himself from around Aziraphale. “You really have thought about this a lot,” he said into Aziraphale’s hair, and Aziraphale shivered from the warmth of his breath. “Imagine if you’d actually told me.”  
  
“You’d have dragged me off to the stars,” Aziraphale said, leaning his head against Crowley’s. “And then we’d have never known Armageddon was cancelled.”  
  
“That wouldn’t have been so bad.”  
  
“I suppose not. But I would have missed sushi.”  
  
“Crepes,” Crowley offered.  
  
“Books,” Aziraphale added.  
  
“Plants,” Crowley said, one of his own. “Air. Water. Having a physical body. It would have been a last resort, really, running away like that. Looks like we were lucky, to get to keep Earth a little longer.” He held Aziraphale a moment longer before pulling away enough to speak to him and not past his ear. “And you’re sure?” he asked. “You want to keep living on Earth with me? Even if it means cutting yourself off from everything else?”  
  
Nodding, Aziraphale said, “I am. It’s what I’ve been doing for centuries, after all. I just thought it was time to make it official.”  
  
“Well it doesn’t _have_ to be,” Crowley said, and it sounded somewhat like a plea, like he was asking his angel not to throw himself away for the likes of him, implying that they could keep their love a secret, keep Aziraphale safe by not taking it any further.  
  
“It does, Crowley.” Aziraphale leaned up again, all the way into Crowley’s breathing space, so close their noses almost touched. He didn’t explain that he had to know it was real, through word or action, had to shout it to God and the stars above and make it a part of him. He just stayed near and looked up into Crowley’s worried face. He’d done all that he could, and now all he could do was have faith that Crowley would guide them the rest of the way.  
  
And after a long, hard moment of indecision, he did. Swift as the guillotine blade, he closed the space between them, became the executioner of Aziraphale’s will. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was heavy with emotion and meaning.  
  
“Then I love you too, Aziraphale,” he said as they pulled apart. “And to Hell with anyone who thinks that’s a problem. I’ve got a few moldy corners picked out for them already.”  
  
Aziraphale could not contain his smile, even as Crowley’s descriptive assertion reminded him just what sort of new home he could expect if things went wrong. They wouldn’t go wrong, not with the two of them there together. They’d made a life on Earth for _millennia,_ and without each others’ full support. Now that they were determined not to part, he couldn’t imagine anyone getting the better of them.  
  
“I should think there are a few areas of Heaven they might find equally as unpleasant,” he said, tugging Crowley back to him. “I can’t say I’ll miss the place.”  
  
There were things he _would_ miss, but what was done was done, and he had no regrets, so it was better not to dwell on it. Instead he nudged Crowley towards the kitchen so they could take their tea. They were sat at his smooth, sterile counter, halfway through their mugs, when Crowley asked, “How do you feel?” and Aziraphale was a bit caught off guard, because when he started to actually think about it, he realized he didn’t feel much different-- except a bit weightless with relief.  
  
“Normal,” he said, more worried than he should be, now that Crowley had brought it up.  
  
Crowley raised one eyebrow very high. “I can’t say I remember falling in much detail, but I’m fairly sure you’re not supposed to feel ‘normal’. Are you _sure_ you lost faith?”  
  
“Yes,” Aziraphale said, though it was more of a question. “Of course! I told you, I couldn’t follow God’s Plan anymore. Not when it leaves no room for us to be together. You believe that I want to stay with you, don’t you?”  
  
“Oh I believe _that.”_ Crowley smirked at him affectionately and nudged his knee. “But I’m wondering if you really believe that God didn’t plan for this. The Almighty’s a bastard all right, but a smart one. You know that. What if we really played right into God’s hand, just like with the Antichrist?”  
  
“That couldn’t be,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head and giving Crowley a rather unimpressed look. “If this was planned, then everything that’s happened… Even your fall…”  
  
Crowley shrugged gamely. “No way to know for sure,” he said. “But I’ve had to console myself somehow, all these years. It’s not so bad, really, thinking I fell so I could meet you. Lessens the sting a bit. Anyway, you’re always saying things happen the way they’re meant to happen.”  
  
“That’s--!” Aziraphale frowned, sitting up straighter so he could glare better. “That’s because I’m a gullible idiot! And I was wrong! _Obviously."_

"But you weren't," Crowley said, and he seemed very proud. "Everything did work out. The world's safe, and you're here with me. That's proof enough, isn't it?" 

He didn't know what that was proof of other than that they'd gotten very lucky. But… well he'd never really believed in luck before. There was only decision and divine intervention. Lucky lovers who found each other in a world full of strife and distractions were God's doing. He still believed that. 

"But," Aziraphale protested very smartly. He shook his head, hoping his thoughts would settle in some reasonable order. "But we're--! You know. We're supposed to hate each other!" 

"I don't recall reading that anywhere," Crowley said, his tone of voice carefully bored. "They start handing out handbooks after I left? Pamphlets? I certainly never got the memo." 

Aziraphale scoffed, which was just his way of avoiding laughing at Crowley's stupid joke. “But… _why?”_ he asked, because a long-held belief isn’t that easy to get rid of, or so it seemed.  
  
_“Angel,”_ Crowley said admonishingly, a very fond smile on his face. “You should know better than to ask a question like that.” Crowley stared at him, and Aziraphale felt understanding dawn cruelly just before the demon parrotted, “It’s _ineffable.”_ He grinned like he was very proud of himself for defeating Aziraphale with his own words, and Aziraphale only just resisted hanging his head in his hands. _Ineffable._ So Crowley had been listening all those years after all.  
  
“Well.” Aziraphale took a deep breath, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to argue that." Even with his sense of self and faith in God thrown into chaos, that was one thing that would always ring true: that God did what God liked and everyone else had to deal. 

"Good," Crowley said, like that was all done then, and leaned over to peck Aziraphale on the cheek. 

They finished their tea. When they were done, Aziraphale stood up and stretched and Crowley watched him, one part unabashedly interested, one part curiously concerned. 

"I really don't feel any different," Aziraphale told him, running his hands over his arms like he thought he could feel a difference in texture or temperature or anything, even through his coat (which looked the same as well. Would it have changed? Were demons allowed to wear white?). "What if that… wasn't enough?" Of course he didn't _want_ to fall, but he would still much rather it be of his own accord than when he least expected it. 

Crowley looked him up and down, appraisingly and appreciative. "I don't know what you think might be _enough,_ but I'm up to try if you are. I think I've got a pretty good grasp on how it works." 

There wasn't much that Aziraphale wouldn't have been willing to do with Crowley if he'd done more than hint over the years (though Madame Tracy's words played through his head then and he felt a bit foolish), but he had never really let himself actually _consider_ those acts on a personal level. Now, though, that he'd cast down all his reservations, images came to mind as if conjured and he licked his lips, as they were suddenly very dry. As a test for falling, he could imagine worse things, though it still left him rather nervous. 

"Yes, I've some experience myself. Not personal, of course! But between the two of us, I'm certain we can figure it out." Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale stepped closer, insinuating himself into Crowley's space much like he had before, palms resting gently on the lapels of the demon's jacket. 

Crowley seemed pleased to have him so close, but Aziraphale was a little surprised when he pulled him even closer, into an embrace some might liken to a bear hug. "You know, I've been thinking about this since at least the 1600s." 

_"Well,"_ Aziraphale said, flattered that Crowley had been harboring an attraction to him for so long. He'd always known it to a degree, but hearing it said was a special kind of pleasure. "I'm sorry to have made you wait." 

"Oh, angel, you know I'd have waited a lifetime." Crowley sighed happily into Aziraphale's hair, then let go just a little, so he wasn't crushing him so hard. "So when do you want to do it?" 

Biting his lip, Aziraphale looked up at Crowley as steadily as he could manage. "I think the sooner the better. You know." He cleared his throat. "In case that _is_ what… does it. I'd rather it not be hanging over my head for too long." 

"Sure," Crowley said. "So then, what do you think? Next weekend?" 

Aziraphale balked, and tried not to stammer, "I rather thought we would do it tonight." 

Frowning, Crowley said, "Well that won't exactly give anybody time to respond. Unless you were wanting to do it without the audience." 

"Wh--?!" Aziraphale felt very uninformed all of a sudden. It was true he'd been paying less attention to human customs the past few decades but he hadn't expected to be _that_ out of the loop. "When did _having an audience_ come into vogue?!" 

Crowley shrugged. "I don't think it's ever _not_ been in vogue," he said. "As much as anything was ever 'in vogue' before French was a thing." He went on as Aziraphale stared. “You remember that king’s wedding we went to, right? Right after baking soda was invented and they finally figured out how to make a proper cake. You had, what, eight slices?”  
  
“It was quite the cake...” Aziraphale said faintly, realizing he might have misunderstood Crowley.  
  
_“Loads_ of people at that wedding. Even small ones usually have a few. A witness or two, something like that. Thought you might want to invite Shadwell and his medium woman. Maybe book girl. I dunno, do you have any favorite customers? I’m definitely looking forward to sending an invitation to Hastur, just to tell him he can’t come.”  
  
Aziraphale tried to school his face into a more passive expression. “Uh, yes. Right! Wonderful idea.” Unfortunately, he could feel how red his face had gotten and knew he wasn’t fooling anyone. Crowley’s smirk was further evidence, although he thanked God that he either didn’t realize _what_ Aziraphale had been thinking, or was kind enough not to mention it.  
  
“You haven’t gotten shy, have you, angel?” he asked. “I thought it was _romantic,_ to want to tell God and the whole world? Unless you’re not that serious?”  
  
While Aziraphale _knew_ that Crowley was only joking, he hated the idea that Crowley might doubt him, so badly it snapped him (mostly) out of his mortification. “I _am_ serious,” he said. “Very much so. I’ll tell _everyone.”_  
  
Crowley smiled knowingly (or at least… somewhat knowingly). “So… lots of guests then? We’ll need a pretty big cake if we’re going to feed _everyone._ Angel food with a Devil’s food inner?”  
  
They threw together some dinner while they went over apparent wedding plans and Aziraphale idly reflected on what his life had become, and seemingly so suddenly. (Though in reality it had been a very long journey; longer than either had lived, if Crowley was right.) They really were standing about in Crowley’s immaculate kitchen, Aziraphale endeavoring to make it a bit less immaculate with dinner prep, talking about potential venues and what kind of person they might get to officiate the ceremony. (A priest? Maybe _not_ a priest. Was it blasphemy for a man of God to marry a demon and a potentially-fallen angel? _Should_ they blaspheme?) After the entire age of Earth, and centuries of doubt, this was really where they’d ended up. It was almost hard to believe it could be anything other than a divine Plan, orchestrated by a God with a frustrating sense of humor.  
  
God… Aziraphale wondered if God knew, maybe really _had_ known since the beginning. And if God knew, did that mean he didn’t have to make some grand announcement after all? Or was coming out about it what really mattered? The end of a great lie he’d been perpetuating for too long? Was the truth what would simultaneously damn him and set him free from his worries? Was Crowley’s touch the needed catalyst?  
  
Or maybe it was deciding, once and for all, that he didn’t care. That the important thing was not whether he fell or whether he stayed the same, and it wasn’t what God thought of him, because he had no control over that. The important thing was being true to his heart, following where it lead and being unapologetic about his decision.  
  
“What’s bothering you, angel?” Crowley asked, as he cleared plates from around Aziraphale, who’d zoned out a bit in the middle of dessert.  
  
“Not a thing,” Aziraphale said, and it was mostly the truth. Dispensing with protective white lies was something he’d have to practice at, but for now he felt it was true enough. It was his _intention,_ at very least, to not let his worries get the better of him.  
  
“Alright,” Crowley said with a shrug. “Then what’s on your mind? Or is the gelato just that good?”  
  
“Oh.” _‘Waste not, want not,’_ Aziraphale thought, so he finished off the dessert before it could finish melting. Then he responded to Crowley, fully intending that he should no longer ever be left unanswered, so long as they both should live. “I’m excited,” he said, his smile just a touch shy. “About all this. About the future with you.”  
  
A bit more sentimental than Aziraphale might have expected, given that they hadn’t been drinking, Crowley gently took his hand. “You know you don’t have to _fall_ for me,” he reiterated. “We can have this, all of this, anything you want, without you going and getting yourself in trouble because you think that’s what’s _fair.”_  
  
Aziraphale knew. His brain was all alight with the chaos of anxiety and overanalysis, but as soon as he’d calmed it a bit (not even by deciding not to care but simply realizing that he _could_ decide not to care), he could hear the thrumming echo of his heart-- or wherever it was that his love for God and Crowley gently mingled. In it he knew that he, _they,_ in fact, would be okay one way or the other, whatever they did, whatever they decided. Because whether God had written this plot for them, whether they were made for each other, they were made just the way they were meant to be. If they changed, if they stayed the same, if they threw caution to the wind and loved without restraint-- as long as they did what their hearts told them, then it was good.  
  
“I’m sorry, my dear,” he told Crowley, shaking his head. "It’s far too late. I’ve already fallen for you.”  
  
He watched as Crowley’s expression morphed from sadness and worry to an exasperated annoyance he loved so much.  
  
In the end, they were both right. No discernable difference could be found in Aziraphale’s body or spirit, not after they declared their love to God and the world (and the handful of humans they liked best, clustered around the old bandstand); not after they shouted it to the starry night sky or left the muffled cries of it to echo off the empty walls of Crowley’s apartment. After every kiss, every embrace, every act of service or kindness, Aziraphale only felt stronger. Not in an ethereal way, but in the way one does when they’re no longer holding back. And as he had decided would be the case (because after all that, how could it be any other way?), they followed their hearts and were perfectly fine.  
  
And as superfluous as it might have been, Aziraphale did just as he’d always said he would, and every night said a little prayer. Nothing grand.  
  
Just, _‘thank you.’_


End file.
